c fEE UNTROUBLED 

MIND 9S *0 Herbert J. Haul 




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THE UNTROUBLED MIND 



' THE 
OTTEOTJBLED MIKD 



HERBERT J. HALL, M.D. 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

0)t ifttoersi&e $re££ Cambribge 

1915 



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COPYRIGHT, I915, BY HERBERT J. HALL 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published May 1Q15 



JUN I 1915 

©CI. A 4 0606 6 /u 



PREFACE 

A very wise physician has said that 
"every illness has two parts — what it 
is, and what the patient thinks about 
it." What the patient thinks about it is 
often more important and more trouble- 
some than the real disease. What the 
patient thinks of life, what life means 
to him is also of great importance and 
may be the bar that shuts out all real 
health and happiness. The following 
pages are devoted to certain ideals of 
life which I would like to give to my 
patients, the long-time patients who 
have especially fallen to my lot, 

They are not all here, the steps to 
health and happiness. The reader may 
even be annoyed and baffled by my in- 
directness and unwillingness to be spe- 
cific. That I cannot help — it is a per- 
sonal peculiarity; I cannot ask any one 
to live by rule, because I do not believe 



vi PREFACE 

that rules are binding and final. There 
must be character behind the rule and 
then the rule is unnecessary. 

All that I have written has doubtless 
been presented before, in better ways, 
by wiser men, but I believe that each 
writer may expect to find his small pub- 
lic, his own particular public who can 
understand and profit by his teachings, 
having partly or wholly failed with the 
others. For that reason I am encour- 
aged to write upon a subject usually 
shunned by medical men, being assured 
of at least a small company of friendly 
readers. 

I am grateful to a number of friends 
and patients who have read the manu- 
script of the following chapters. These 
reviewers have been frank and kind 
and very helpful. I am particularly 
indebted to Dr. Richard C. Cabot, who 
has given me much valuable assistance. 



CONTENTS 

I. The Untroubled Mind ... 1 

II. Religio Medici 10 

III. Thought and Work .... 20 

IV. Idleness 30 

V. Rules of the Game .... 38 

VI. The Nervous Temperament . . 50 

VII. Self-Control 59 

VIII. The Lighter Touch ... 65 

IX. Regrets and Forebodings . . 73 

X. The Virtues 81 

XI. The Cure by Faith . . . .88 



THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain. 
And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff 
Which weighs upon the heart? 

Macbeth. 

When a man tells me he never worries, 
I am inclined to think that he is either 
deceiving himself or trying to deceive 
me. The great roots of worry are con- 
science, fear, and regret. Undoubtedly 
we ought to be conscientious and we 
ought to fear and regret evil. But if it 
is to be better than an impediment and 
a harm, our worry must be largely un- 
conscious, and intuitive. The moment 
we become conscious of worry we are 
undone. Fortunately, or unfortunately, 
we cannot leave conscience to its own 
devices unless our lives are big enough 
and fine enough to warrant such a 



2 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

course. The remedy for the mental 
unrest, which is in itself an illness, lies 
not in an enlightened knowledge of 
the harmfulness and ineffectiveness of 
worry, not even in the acquirement of 
an unconscious conscience, but in the 
living of a life so full and good that 
worry cannot find place in it. That 
idea of worry and conscience, that defi- 
nition of serenity, simplifies life im- 
mensely. To overcome worry by sub- 
stituting development and growth need 
never be dull work. To know life in its 
farther reaches, life in its better appli- 
cations, is the final remedy — the great 
undertaking — it is life. We must warn 
ourselves, not infrequently, that the 
larger life is to be pursued for its own 
glorious self and not for the sake of 
peace. Peace may come, a peace so 
sure that death itself cannot shake it, 
but we must not expect all our affairs 
to run smoothly. As a matter of fact 
they may run badly enough; we shall 
have our ups and downs, we shall sin 



THE UNTROUBLED MIND 3 

and repent, and sin again, but if in the 
end we live according to our best intui- 
tions, we shall be justified, and we need 
not worry about the outcome. To put 
it another way, if we would have the 
untroubled mind, we must transfer our 
conscientious efforts from the small de- 
tails of life — from the worry and fret 
of common things — into another and 
a higher atmosphere. We must trans- 
figure common life, dignify it and en- 
noble it; then, although the old causes 
of worry may continue, we shall have 
gained a stature that will make us un- 
conscious masters of the little troubles 
and in a great degree equal to the larger 
requirements. Life will be easier, not 
because we make less effort, but be- 
cause we are working from another and 
a better level. 

If such a change, and it would be a 
change for most of us, could come about 
instantly, in a flash of revelation, that 
would be ideal, but it would not be life. 
We must return again and again to the 



4 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

old uninspired state wherein we struggle 
conscientiously with perverse details. 
I would not minimize the importance 
and value of this struggle; only the 
sooner it changes its level the better for 
every one concerned. Large serenity 
must, finally, be earned through the 
toughening of moral fibre that comes 
in dealing squarely with perplexing 
details. Some of this struggle must al- 
ways be going on, but serener life will 
come when we begin to concern our- 
selves with larger factors. 

How are we to live the larger life? 
Partly through uninspired struggle and 
through the brave meeting of adversity, 
but partly, also, in a way that may 
be described as "out of hand," by 
intuition, by exercise of the quality 
of mind that sees visions and grasps 
truths beyond the realms of common 
thought. 

I am more and more impressed with 
the necessity of inspiration in life if we 
are to be strong and serene, and so fin- 



THE UNTROUBLED MIND 5 

ally escape the pitfalls of worry and 
conscience. By inspirations I do not 
mean belief in any system or creed. It 
is not a stated belief that we need to 
begin with; that may come in time. 
We need first to find in life, or at least 
in nature, an essential beauty that 
makes its own true, inevitable response 
within us. We must learn to love life so 
deeply that we feel its tremendous sig- 
nificance, until we find in the sea and 
the sky the evidence of an overbrooding 
spirit too great to be understood, but 
not too great to satisfy the soul. This 
is a sort of mother religion — the ma- 
trix from which all sects and creeds are 
born. Its existence in us dignifies us 
and makes simple, purposeful, and re- 
ceptive living almost inevitable. We 
may not know why we are living ac- 
cording to the dictates of our inspira- 
tion, but we shall live so and that is the 
important consideration. 

If I urge the acquirement of a reli- 
gious conception that we may cure the 



6 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

intolerable distress of worry, I do what 
I have already warned against. It is so 
easy to make this mistake that I have 
virtually made it on the same page with 
my warning. We have no right to seek 
so great a thing as religious experience 
that we may be relieved of suffering. 
Better go on with pain and distress than 
cheapen religion by making it a remedy. 
We must seek it for its own sake, or 
rather, we must not seek it at all, lest, 
like a dream, it elude us, or change into 
something else, less holy. Neverthe- 
less, it is true that if we will but look 
with open, unprejudiced eyes, again 
and again, upon the sunrise or the stars 
above us, we shall become conscious of 
a presence greater and more beautiful 
than our minds can think. In the expe- 
rience of that vision strength and peace 
will come to us unbidden. We shall find 
our lives raised, as by an unseen force, 
above the warfare of conscience and 
worry. We shall begin to know the 
meaning of serenity and of that price- 



THE UNTROUBLED MIND 7 

less, if not wholly to be acquired, pos- 
session, the untroubled mind. 

I am aware that I shall be misunder- 
stood and perhaps ridiculed by my col- 
leagues when I attempt to discuss reli- 
gion in any way. Theology is a field in 
which I have had no training, but that 
is the very reason why I dare write of 
it, I do not even assume that there is a 
God in the traditional sense. The idea 
is too great to be made concrete and 
literal. No single fact of nature can be 
fully understood by our finite minds. 
But I do feel vaguely that the laws that 
compass us, and make our lives possi- 
ble, point always on — "beyond the 
realms of time and space" — toward 
the existence of a mighty overruling 
spirit. If this is a cold and inadequate 
conception of God, it is at least one 
that can be held by any man without 
compromise. 

The modern mind is apt to fail of 
religious understanding and support, 
because of the arbitrary interpretations 



8 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

of religion which are presented for our 
acceptance. It is what men say about 
religion, rather than religion itself, that 
repels us. Let us think it out for our- 
selves. If we are open to a simple, even 
primitive, conception of God, we may 
still repudiate the creeds and doctrines, 
but we are likely to become more toler- 
ant of those who find them true and 
good. We shall be likely in time to find 
the religion of Christ understandable 
and acceptable — warm and quick with 
life. The man who ungrudgingly opens 
his heart to the God of nature will be 
religious in the simplest possible sense. 
He may worry because of the things he 
cannot altogether understand, and be- 
cause he falls so far short of the implied 
ideal. But he will have enlarged his life 
so much that the common worries will 
find little room — he will be too full of 
the joy of living to spend much con- 
scious thought in worry. Such a man 
will realize that he cannot afford to 
spend his time and strength in regret- 



THE UNTROUBLED MIND 9 

ting his past mistakes. There is too 
much in the future. What he does in 
the future, not what he has failed to do 
in the past, will determine the quality 
of his life. He knows this, and the 
knowledge sends him into that future 
with courage and with strength. Fin- 
ally, in some indefinable way, charac- 
ter will become more important to him 
than physical health even. Illness is 
half compensated when a man realizes 
that it is not what he accomplishes in 
the world, but what he is that really 
counts, which puts him in touch with 
the creative forces of God and raises 
him out of the aimless and ordinary 
into a life of inspiration and joy. 



II 

RELIGIO MEDICI 

At all events, it is certain that if any medical man 
had come to Middlemarch with the reputation of hav- 
ing definite religious views, of being given to prayer 
and of otherwise showing an active piety, there would 
have been a general presumption against his medical 
skill. 

George Eliot. 

When a medically educated man talks 
and writes of religion and of God, he is 
rightly enough questioned by his brothers 
— who are too busy with the hard work 
of practice to be concerned with any- 
thing but material problems . To me the 
word "God 55 is symbolic of the power 
which created and which maintains the 
universe. The sunrise and the stars of 
heaven give me some idea of his majesty, 
the warmth and tenderness of human 
love give me some idea of his divine 
love. That is all I know, but it is 
enough to make life glow; it is enough 
to inspire the most intense devotion to 



RELIGIO MEDICI 11 

any good cause; it is enough to make 
me bear suffering with some degree of 
patience; and it is enough, finally, to 
give me some confidence and courage 
even in the face of the great mystery of 
death. Why this or another conception 
of God should produce such a profound 
result upon any one, I do not know, 
except that in some obscure way it con- 
nects the individual with the divine 
plan, and does not leave him outside in 
despair and loneliness. However that 
may be, it will be conceded that a reli- 
gious conception of some kind does 
much toward justifying life, toward 
making it strong and livable, and so 
has directly to do with certain import- 
ant problems of illness and health. The 
most practical medical man will admit 
that any illness is made lighter and 
more likely to recover in the presence 
of hope and serenity in the mind of the 
patient. 

Naturally the great bulk of medical 
practice calls for no handling other than 



12 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

that of the straight medical sort. A 
man comes in with a crushed finger, a 
girl with anaemia — the way is clear. 
It is only in deeper, more intricate de- 
partments of medicine that we alto- 
gether fail. The bacteriologist and the 
pathologist have no use for mental 
treatment, in their departments. But 
when we come to the case of the ner- 
vously broken-down school teacher, or 
the worn-out telegrapher, that is an- 
other matter. Years may elapse before 
work can be resumed — years of de- 
pendence and anxiety. Here, a new 
view of life is often more useful than 
drugs, a view that accepts the situation 
reasonably after a while, that does not 
grope blindly and impatiently for a 
cure, but finds in life an inspiration that 
makes it good in spite of necessary suf- 
fering and limitations. Often enough 
we cannot promise a cure, but we must 
be prepared to give something better. 

A great deal of the fatigue and un- 
happiness of the world is due to the fact 



RELIGIO MEDICI 13 

that we do not go deep enough in our 
justification for work or play, or for any 
experience, happy or sad. There is a 
good deal of a void after we have said, 
"Art for art's sake," or "Play for the 
joy of playing," or even after we have 
said, "I am working for the sake of my 
family, or for some one who needs my 
help." That is not enough ; and whether 
we realize it or not, the lack of deeper 
justification is at the bottom of a rest- 
lessness and uncertainty which we 
might not be willing to acknowledge, 
but which nevertheless is very real. 

I am not satisfied when some moralist 
says, "Be good and you will be happy." 
The kind of happiness that comes from 
a perfunctory goodness is a thing which 
I cannot understand, and which I cer- 
tainly do not want. If I work and play 
and serve and employ, making up the 
fabric of a busy life, if I attain a very 
real happiness, I am tormented by the 
desire to know why I am doing it, and 
I am not satisfied with the answer I 



14 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

usually get. The patient may not be 
cured when he is relieved of his anaemia, 
or when his emaciation has given place 
to the plumpness and suppleness and 
physical strength that we call health. 
The man whom we look upon as well, 
and who has never known physical ill- 
ness, is not well in the larger sense until 
he knows why he is working, why he is 
living, why he is filling his life with 
activity. In spite of the elasticity and 
spring of the w T orld's interests, there 
must come often, and with a kind of 
fatal insistence, the deep demand for a 
cause, for a justification. If there is not 
an adequate significance behind it, life, 
with all its courage and accomplish- 
ment, seems but a sorry thing, so full of 
pathos, even in its brightest moments, 
so shadowed with a sense of loss and of 
finality that the bravest heart may well 
fail and the truest courage relax, sup- 
ported only by the assurance that this 
way lies happiness or that right is right. 
What is this knowledge that the 



RELIGIO MEDICI 15 

world is seeking, but can never find? 
What is this final justification? If we 
seek it in its completeness, we are 
doomed always to be ill and unsatisfied. 
If we are willing to look only a little 
way into the great question, if we are 
willing to accept a little for the whole, 
content because it is manifestly part of 
the final knowledge, and because we 
know that final knowledge rests with 
God alone, we shall understand enough 
to save us from much sorrow and pain- 
ful incompleteness. 

There is, in the infinitely varied and 
beautiful world of nature, and in the 
hearts of men, so much of beauty and 
truth that it is a wonder we do not all 
realize that these things of common life 
may be in us and for us the daily and 
hourly expression of the infinite being 
we call God. We do not see God, but 
we do feel and know so much that we 
may fairly believe to be of God that 
we do not need to see Him face to face. 
It is something more than imagination 



16 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

to feel that it is the life of God in our 
lives, so often unrecognized or ignored, 
that prompts us to all the greatness and 
the inspiration and the accomplishment 
of the world. If we could know more 
clearly the joy of such a conception, 
we should dry up at its source much of 
the unhappiness which is, in a deep and 
subtle way, at the bottom of many a 
nervous illness and many a wretched 
existence. 

The happiness which is found in 
the recognition of kinship with God, 
through the common things of life, in 
the experiences which are so significant 
that they could not spring from a lesser 
source, the happiness which is not 
sought, but which is the inevitable re- 
sult of such recognition — this experi- 
ence goes a long way toward making 
life worth living. 

If we do have this conception of life, 
then some of the old, old questions that 
have vexed so many dwellers upon the 
earth will no longer be a source of un- 



RELIGIO MEDICI 17 

happiness or of illness of mind or body. 
The question of immortality, for in- 
stance, which has made us afraid to die, 
will no longer be a question — we shall 
not need to answer it, in the presence of 
God, in our lives and in the world about 
us. We shall be content finally to ac- 
cept whatever is in store for us — so it 
be the will of God. We may even look 
for something better than mere immor- 
tality, something more divine than our 
gross conception of eternal life. 

This is a religion that I believe med- 
ical men may teach without hesitation 
whenever the need shall arise. I know 
well enough that many a blunt if kindly 
man cannot bring himself to say these 
words, even if he believes them, but I 
do think that in some measure they 
point the way to what may wisely be 
taught. 

There is a practice of medicine — the 
common practice — that is concerned 
with the body only, and with its chem- 
ical and mechanical reactions. We can 



18 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

have nothing but respect and admira- 
tion for the men who go on year after 
year in the eager pursuit of this calling. 
We know that such a work is necessary, 
that it is just as important as the edu- 
cational practice of which I write. We 
know that without the physical side 
medicine would fail of its usefulness 
and that disease and death would reap 
far richer harvests: I only wish the two 
naturally related aspects of our dealing 
with patients might not be so com- 
pletely separated that they lose sight of 
each other. As a matter of fact, both 
elements are necessary to our human 
welfare. If medicine devotes itself alto- 
gether to the cure and prevention of 
physical disease, it will miss half of its 
possibilities. It is equally true that if 
we forget the physical necessities in our 
zeal for spiritual hygiene, we shall get 
and deserve complete and humiliating 
failure. Many men will say, "Why mix 
the two? Why not let the preachers and 
the philosophers preach and the doctors 



RELIGIO MEDICI 19 

follow their own ways?" For the most 
part this may have to be the arrange- 
ment, but the doctor who can see and 
treat the spiritual needs of his patient 
will always be more likely to cure in the 
best sense than the doctor who sees only 
half of the picture. On the other hand, 
the philosopher is likely to be a com- 
paratively poor doctor, because he 
knows nothing of medicine, and so can 
see only the other half of the picture. 
There is much to be said for the religion 
of medicine if it can be kept free from 
cant, if it can be simple and rational 
enough to be available for the whole 
world. 



Ill 

THOUGHT AND WORK 

I wish I had a trade! — It would animate my arms 
and tranquilize my brain. 

Senancour. 

"Doe ye nexte thynge." — Old English Proverb. 

Since our minds are so constantly filled 
with anxiety, there would seem to be at 
least one sure way to be rid of it — to 
stop thinking. 

A great many people believe that the 
mind will become less effective, that 
life will become dull and purposeless, 
unless they are constantly thinking and 
planning and arranging their affairs. I 
believe that the mind may easily and 
wisely be free from conscious thought a 
good deal of the time, and that the 
greatest progress and development in 
mind often comes when the thinker is 
virtually at rest, when his mind is to all 
intents and purposes blank. The busy, 



THOUGHT AND WORK 21 

unconscious mind does its best work in 
the serenity of an atmosphere which 
does not interfere and confuse. 

It is true that the greatest concep- 
tions do not come to the untrained and 
undisciplined mind. But do we want 
great conceptions all the time? There 
is a technical training for the mind 
which is, of course, necessary for spe- 
cial accomplishments, but this is quite 
another matter. Even this kind of 
thought must not obtrude too much, 
lest we become conscious of our men- 
tal processes and so end in confusion. 

One of the greatest benefits of work 
with the hands, or of objective and con- 
structive work with the mind, is that it 
saves us from unending hours of think- 
ing. Work should, of course, find its 
fullest justification as an expression of 
faith. If we have ever so dim a vision 
of a greater significance in life, of its 
close relationship to infinite things, we 
become thereby conscious of the need of 
service, of the need of work. It is the 



22 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

easy, natural expression of our faith, 
the inevitable result of a spiritual con- 
tact with the great working forces of 
the world. It is work above all else that 
saves us from the disasters of conflict- 
ing thought. 

A few years ago a young man came to 
me, suffering from too much thinking. 
He had just been graduated from col- 
lege and his head was full of confused 
ideas and emotions. He was also very 
tired, having overworked in his prepa- 
ration for examinations, and because 
he had not taken the best care of his 
body. The symptoms he complained 
of were sleeplessness and worry, to- 
gether with the inevitable indigestion 
and headache. Of course, as a physi- 
cian, I went over the bodily functions 
carefully, and studied, as far as I might, 
into the organic conditions. I could find 
no evidence of physical disease. I did 
not say, "There is nothing the matter 
with you " ; for the man was sick. I told 
him that he was tired, that he had 



THOUGHT AND WORK 23 

thought too much, that he was too 
much concerned about himself, and 
that as a result of all this his bodily 
functions were temporarily upset. He 
thought he ought to worry about him- 
self, because otherwise he would not be 
trying to get well. I explained to him 
that this mistaken obligation was the 
common reason for worry, and that in 
this case, at least, it was quite unneces- 
sary and even harmful for him to go on 
thinking about himself. That helped a 
little, but not nearly enough, because 
when a man has overworked, when he 
has begun to worry, and when his vari- 
ous bodily functions show results of 
worry, no reasoning, no explanations, 
can wholly relieve him. I said to this 
young man, "In spite of your discom- 
forts, in spite of your depression and 
concern in regard to yourself, you will 
get well if you will stop thinking about 
the matter altogether. You must be 
first convinced that it is best for you to 
stop thinking, that no harm or violence 



24 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

can result, and then you must be helped 
in this direction by going to work with 
your hands — that will be life and pro- 
gress, it will lead you to health." 

Fortunately I had had some experi- 
ence with nervous illness, and I knew 
that unless I managed for this man the 
character and extent of his work, he 
would not only fail in it, but of its object, 
and so become more confused and dis- 
couraged. I knew the troubled mind, in 
this instance, might find its solace and 
its relief in work, but that I must choose 
the work carefully to suit the individual, 
and I must see that the nervously 
fatigued body was not pushed too hard. 

In the town where I live is a black- 
smith shop, presided over by a genial 
old man who has been a blacksmith 
since he was a boy, and in whose hands 
iron is like clay. I took my patient 
down to the smithy and said, "Here 
is a young man whom I want to put 
to work. He will pay for the chance. 
I want you first to teach him to make 



THOUGHT AND WORK 25 

hand-wrought nails." This was a good 
deal of a joke to the smith and to the 
patient, but they saw that I was in 
earnest and agreed to go ahead. We 
got together the proper tools and pro- 
ceeded to make nails, a job which is 
really not very difficult. After an hour's 
work, I called off my patient, much to 
his disgust, for he was just beginning to 
be interested. But I knew that if he 
were to keep on until fatigue should 
come, the whole matter would end in 
trouble. So the next day, with some 
new overalls and a leather apron added 
to the equipment, we proceeded to 
another hour's work. We went on this 
way for three or four days, before the 
time was increased. 

The interest of the patient was always 
fresh, he was eager for more, and he did 
not taste the dregs of fatigue. Yet he 
did get the wholesome exercise, and he 
did get the strong turning of the mind 
from its worry and concern. Of course, 
the rest of the day was taken care of in 



26 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

one way or another, but the work was 
the central feature. In a week, we were 
at it two hours a day, in three weeks, 
four hours, and in a month, five hours. 
He had made a handsome display of 
hand-wrought nails, a superior line of 
pokers and shovels for fireplaces, to- 
gether with a number of very respect- 
able andirons. On each of these larger 
pieces of handiwork my patient had 
stamped his initials with a little steel 
die that was made for him. Each piece 
was his own, each piece was the product 
of his own versatility and his own 
strength. His pride and pleasure in this 
work were very great, and well they 
might be, for it is a fine thing to have 
learned to handle so intractable a 
material as iron. But in handling the 
iron patiently and consistently until he 
could do it without too much conscious 
thinking, and so without effort, he had 
also learned to handle himself naturally, 
more simply and easily. 

As a matter of fact, the illness which 



THOUGHT AND WORK 27 

had brought this boy to me was pretty 
nearly cured by his blacksmithing, be- 
cause it was an illness of the mind and 
of the nerves, and not of the body, 
although the body had suffered in its 
turn. That young man, instead of be- 
coming a nervous invalid as he might 
have done, is now working steadily in 
partnership with his father, in business 
in the city. I had found him a very 
interesting patient, full of originality 
and not at all the tedious and boresome 
person he might have been had I lis- 
tened day after day, week after week 
to the recital of his ills. I was willing to 
listen, — I did listen, — but I also gave 
him a new trend of life, which pretty 
soon made his complaints sound hollow 
and then disappear. 

Of course, the problem is not always 
so simple as this, and we must often 
deal with complexities of body and 
mind requiring prolonged investigation 
and treatment. I cite this case because 
it shows clearly that relief from some 



28 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

forms of nervous illness can come when 
we stop thinking, when we stop analyz- 
ing, and then back up our position with 
prescribed work. 

There may be some nervous invalids 
who reads these lines who will say, 
"But I have tried so many times to 
work and have failed." Unfortunately, 
such failure must often occur unless we 
can proceed with care and with under- 
standing. But the principle remains 
true, although it must be modified in 
an infinite variety to meet the changing 
conditions of individuals. 

I see a great many people who are 
conscientiously trying to get well from 
nervous exhaustion. They almost inev- 
itably try too hard. They think and 
worry too much about it, and so ex- 
haust themselves the more. This is the 
greater pity because it is the honest and 
the conscientious people who make the 
greatest effort. It is very hard for them 
to realize that they must stop thinking, 
stop trying, and if possible get to work 



THOUGHT AND WORK 29 

before they can accomplish their end. 
We shall have to repeat to them over 
and over again that they must stop 
thinking the matter out, because the 
thing they are attempting to overcome 
is too subtle to be met in that way. So, 
if they are fortunate, they may rid 
themselves of the vagueness and uncer- 
tainty of life, until all the multitude of 
details which go to make up life lose 
their desultoriness and their lack of 
meaning, and they may find themselves 
no longer the subjects of physical or 
nervous exhaustion. 



IV 

IDLENESS 

O ye ! who have your eyeballs vex'd and tir'd, 
Feast them upon the wideness of the sea. 

Keats. 

Extreme busyness, whether at school or college, 
kirk or market, is a symptom of deficient vitality; and 
a faculty for idleness implies a catholic appetite and 
a strong sense of personal identity. 

Stevenson. 

It is an unfortunate fact that very few 
people are able to be idle successfully, 
I think it is not so much because we 
misuse idleness as because we misinter- 
pret it that the long days become in- 
creasingly demoralizing. I would ask 
no one to accept a forced idleness with- 
out objection or regret. Such an accept- 
ance would imply a lack of spirit, to say 
the least. But idleness and rest are not 
incompatible; neither are idleness and 
service, nor idleness and contentment. 
If we can look upon rest as a prepara- 
tion for service, if we can make it serve 



IDLENESS 31 

us in the opportunity it gives for quiet 
growth and legitimate enjoyment, then 
it is fully justified and it may offer ad- 
vantages and opportunity of the best. 

The chief trouble with idleness is that 
it so often means introspection, worry, 
and impatience, especially to those con- 
scientious souls who would fain be about 
their business. 

I have for a long time been accus- 
tomed to combat the worry and fret of 
necessary idleness — not by forbidding 
it, not by advising struggle and fight 
against it, but by insisting that the 
best way to get rid of it is to leave it 
alone, to accept it. When we do this 
there may come a kind of fallow time in 
which the mind enriches and refreshes 
itself beyond our conception. 

I would rather my patient who must 
rest for a long time would give up all 
thought of method, would give up all 
idea of making his mind follow any 
particular line of thought or absence of 
thought. I know that the mind which 



32 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

has been under conscious control a good 
deal of the time is apt to rebel at this 
freedom and to indulge in all kinds of 
alarming extravagances. I am sure, 
however, that the best way to meet 
these demands for conscious control is 
to be careless of them, to be willing 
to experience these extravagances and 
inconsistencies without fear, in the be- 
lief that finally will come a quiet and 
peace which will be all that we can ask. 
The peace of mind that is unguided, 
in the conscious and literal sense, is a 
thing which too few of us know. 

Mr. Arnold Bennett, in his little 
book, "How to Live on Twenty-four 
Hours a Day," teaches that we should 
leave no time unused in our lives; that 
we should accomplish a great deal more 
and be infinitely more effective and 
progressive if we devoted our minds to 
the definite working-out of necessary 
problems whenever those times occur 
in which we are apt to be desultory. I 
wish here to make a plea for desultori- 



IDLENESS 33 

ness and for an idleness which goes even 
beyond the idleness of the man who 
reads the newspaper and forgets what 
he has read. It seems to me better, 
whether we are sick or well, to allow 
long periods in our lives when we think 
only casually. To the good old adage, 
"Work while you work and play while 
you play," we might well add, "Rest 
while you rest," lest in the end you 
should be unable successfully either to 
work or play. 

A man is not necessarily condemned 
to tortures of mind because he must 
rest for a week or a month or a year. 
I know that there must be anxious 
times, especially when idleness means 
dependence, and when it brings hard- 
ship to those who need our help. But 
the invalid must not try constantly to 
puzzle the matter out. If we do not 
make ourselves sick with worry, we 
shall be able sometime to approach 
active life with sufficient frankness and 
force. It is the constant effort of the 



34 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

poor, tired mind to solve its problems 
that not only fails of its object, but 
plunges the invalid deeper into dis- 
couragement and misunderstanding. 
How cruel this is, and how unfortunate 
that it should come more commonly to 
those who try the hardest to overcome 
their handicaps, to throw off the yoke 
of idleness and to be well. 

When you have tried your best to 
get back to your work and have failed, 
when you have done this not once but 
many times, it is inevitable that mis- 
understanding should creep in, inevit- 
able that you should question very 
deeply and doubt not infrequently. 
Yet the chances are that one of the 
reasons for your failure is that you have 
tried too hard, that you have not known 
how to rest. When you have learned 
how to rest, when you have learned to 
put off thinking and planning until the 
mind becomes fresh and clear, when 
you are in a fair way to know the joy of 
idleness and the peace of rest, you are a 



IDLENESS 35 

great deal more likely to get back to 
efficiency and to find your way along 
the great paths of activity into the 
world of life. 

It is not so much the idleness, then, 
as the attempt to overcome its irksome- 
ness, that makes this condition painful. 
The invalid in bed is in a trap, to be tor- 
mented by his thoughts unless he knows 
the meaning of successful idleness. This 
knowledge may come to him by such 
strategy as I have suggested — by giv- 
ing up the struggle against worry and 
fret; but peace will come surely, stead- 
ily, "with healing in its wings," when 
the mind is changed altogether, when 
life becomes free because of a growth 
and development that finds significance 
even in idleness, that sees the world 
with wise and patient eyes. 

In a way it does not matter, your 
physical condition or mine, if our "eyes 
have seen the glory" that deifies life 
and makes even its waste places beauti- 
ful. What is that view from your win- 



36 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

dow as you lie in your bed? A bit of 
the sea, if you are fortunate, a corner 
of garden, surely, the top of an elm tree 
against the blue. What is it but the 
revelations of a God in the world? 
There is enough that is sad and un- 
happy, but over all are these simple, 
ineffable things. If the garden is an 
expression of God in the world, then 
the world and life are no longer mean- 
ingless. Even idleness becomes in some 
degree bearable because it is a part of a 
significant world. 

Unfortunately, the idleness of dis- 
ability often means pain, the wear and 
tear of physical or nervous suffering. 
That is another matter. We cannot 
meet it fully with any philosophy. My 
patients very often beg to know the 
best way to bear pain, how they may 
overcome the attacks of "nerves" that 
are harder to bear than pain. To such a 
question I can only say that the time to 
bear pain is before and after. Live in 
such a way in the times of comparative 



IDLENESS 37 

comfort that the attacks are less likely 
to appear and easier to bear when they 
do come. After the pain or the "ner- 
vous" attack is over, that is the time 
to prevent the worst features of an- 
other. Forget the distress; live simply 
and happily in spite of the memory, 
and you will have done all that the 
patient himself can do to ward off or 
to make tolerable the next occasion of 
suffering. Pain itself — pure physical 
pain — is a matter for the physician's 
judgment. It is his business to seek out 
the causes and apply the remedy. 



RULES OF THE GAME 

It is not growing like a tree 

In bulk, doth make man better be. 

Ben Jonson. 

It is a good thing to have a sound body, better to 
have a sane mind, but neither is to be compared to 
that aggregate of virile and decent qualities which we 
call character. 

Theodore Roosevelt. 

The only effective remedy against inexorable neces- 
sity is to yield to it. 

Petrarch. 

When I go about among my patients, 
most of them, as it happens, "ner- 
vously" sick, I sometimes stop to con- 
sider why it is they are ill. I know that 
some are so because of physical weak- 
ness over which they have no control, 
that some are suffering from the effects 
of carelessness, some from wilfulness, 
and more from simple ignorance of the 
rules of the game. There are so many 
rules that no one will ever know them 



RULES OF THE GAME 39 

all, but it seems that we live in a world 
of laws, and that if we transgress those 
laws by ever so little, we must suffer 
equally, whether our transgression is a 
mistake or not, and whether we happen 
to be saints or sinners. There are laws 
also which have to do with the recovery 
of poise and balance when these have 
been lost. These laws are less well ob- 
served and understood than those which 
determine our downfall. 

The more gross illnesses, from acci- 
dent, contagion, and malignancy, we 
need not consider here, but only those 
intangible injuries that disable people 
who are relatively sound in the physical 
sense. It is true that nervous troubles 
may cause physical complications and 
that physical disease very often coexists 
with nervous illness, but it is better 
for us now to make an artificial separa- 
tion. Just what happens in the human 
economy when a "nervous breakdown" 
comes, nobody seems to know, but 
mind and body cooperate to make the 



40 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

patient miserable and helpless. It may 
be nature's way of holding us up and 
preventing further injury. The hold-up 
is severe, usually, and becomes in itself 
a thing to be managed. 

The rules we have wittingly or un- 
wittingly broken are often unknown 
to us, but they exist in the All- Wise 
Providence, and we may guess by our 
own suffering how far we have over- 
stepped them. If a man runs into a 
door in the dark, we know all about 
that, — the case is simple, — but if he 
runs overtime at his office and hastens 
to be rich with the result of a nervous 
dyspepsia — that is a mystery. Here is 
a girl who "came out" last year. She 
was apparently strong and her mother 
was ambitious for her social progress. 
That meant four nights a week for sev- 
eral months at dances and dinners, get- 
ting home at 3 a.m. or later. It was gay 
and delightful while it lasted, but it 
could not last, and the girl went to 
pieces suddenly; her back gave out be- 



RULES OF THE GAME 41 

cause it was not strong enough to stand 
the dancing and the long-continued 
physical strain. The nerves gave out 
because she did not give her faculties 
time to rest, and perhaps because of a 
love affair that supervened. The result 
was a year of invalidism, and then, be- 
cause the rules of recovery were not 
understood, several years more of con- 
valescence. Such common rules should 
be well enough understood, but they 
are broken everywhere by the wisest 
people. 

The common case of the broken- 
down school teacher is more unfortu- 
nate. This tragedy and others like it 
are more often, I believe, due to un- 
wise choice of profession in the first 
place. The women's colleges are turn- 
ing out hundreds of young women every 
year who naturally consider teaching 
as the field most appropriate and avail- 
able. Probably only a very small pro* 
portion of these girls are strong enough 
physically or nervously to meet the 



42 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

growing demands of the schools. They 
may do well for a time, some of them 
unusually well, for it is the sensitive, 
high-strung organism that is apprecia- 
tive and effective. After a while the 
worry and fret of the requirements and 
the constant nag of the schoolroom 
have their effect upon those who are 
foredoomed to failure in that particular 
field. The plight of such young women 
is particularly hard, for they are usu- 
ally dependent upon their work. 

It is, after all, not so much the things 
we do as the way we do them, and what 
we think about them, that accomplishes 
nervous harm. Strangely enough, the 
sense of effort and the feeling of our 
own inadequacy damage the nervous 
system quite as much as the actual 
physical effort. The attempt to catch 
up with life and with affairs that go on 
too fast for us is a frequent and harm- 
ful deflection from the rules of the game. 
Few of us avoid it. Life comes at us 
and goes by very fast. Tasks multiply 



RULES OF THE GAME 43 

and we are inadequate, responsibilities 
increase before we are ready. They 
bring fatigue and confusion. We can- 
not shirk and be true. Having done all 
you reasonably can, stop, whatever 
may be the consequences. That is a 
rule I would enforce if I could. To do 
more is to drag and fail, so defeating 
the end of your efforts. If it turns out 
that you are not fit for the job you have 
undertaken, give it up and find another, 
or modify that one until it comes within 
your capacity. It takes courage to do 
this — more courage sometimes than is 
needed to make us stick to the thing 
we are doing. Rarely, however, will it 
be necessary for us to give up if we will 
undertake and consider for the day 
only such part of our task as we are 
able to perform. The trouble is that 
we look at our work or our responsibil- 
ity all in one piece, and it crushes us. 
If we cannot arrange our lives so that 
we may meet their obligations a little 
at a time, then we must admit failure 



44 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

and try again, on what may seem a 
lower plane. That is what I consider 
the brave thing to do. I would honor 
the factory superintendent, who, find- 
ing himself unequal to his position, 
should choose to work at the bench 
where he could succeed perfectly. 

The habit of uncertainty in thought 
and action, bred, as it sometimes is, 
from a lack of faith in man and in God, 
is, nevertheless, a thing to be dealt with 
sometimes by itself. Not infrequently 
it is a petty habit that can be corrected 
by the exercise of a little will power. I 
believe it is better to decide wrong & 
great many times — doing it quickly — 
than to come to a right decision after 
weakly vacillating. As a matter of fact, 
we may trust our decisions to be fair 
and true if our life's ideals are beautiful 
and true. 

We may improve our indecisions a 
great deal by mastering their unhappy 
details, but we shall not finally over- 
come them until life rings true and until 



RULES OF THE GAME 45 

all our acts and thoughts become the 
solid and inevitable expression of a 
healthy growing regard for the best in 
life, a call to right living that is no mean 
dictum of policy, but which is renewed 
every morning as the sun comes out of 
the sea. However inconsequential the 
habit of indecision may seem, it is really 
one of the most disabling of bad habits. 
Its continuance contributes largely to 
the sum of nervous exhaustion. What- 
ever its origin, whether it stands in the 
relation of cause or effect, it is an indul- 
gence that insidiously takes the snap 
and sparkle out of life and leaves us for 
the time being colorless and weak. 

Next to uncertainty, an uninspired 
certainty is wrecking to the best of 
human prospects. The man whose one 
idea is of making himself and his fam- 
ily materially comfortable, or even rich, 
may not be coming to nervous prostra- 
tion, but he is courting a moral pros- 
tration that will deny him all the real 
riches of life and that will in the end 



46 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

reward him with a troubled mind, a 
great, unsatisfied longing, unless, to be 
sure, he is too smug and satisfied to long 
for anything. 

The larger life leads us inevitably 
away from ourselves, away from the 
super-requirements of our families. It 
demands of them and of ourselves an 
unselfishness that is born of a love that 
finds its expression in the service of 
God. And what is the service of God if 
it is not such an entering into the divine 
purposes and spirit that we become 
with God re-creators in the world — 
working factors in the higher evolution 
of humanity? While we live we shall 
get and save, we shall use and spend, 
we shall serve the needs of those de- 
pendent upon us, but we shall not line 
the family nest so softly that our chil- 
dren become powerless. We shall not 
confine our charities to the specified 
channels, where our names will be 
praised and our credit increased. We 
shall give and serve in secret places with 



RULES OF THE GAME 47 

our hearts in our deeds. Then we may 
possess the untroubled mind, a treasure 
too rich to be computed. We shall not 
have it for the seeking; it may exist in 
the midst of what men may call priva- 
tions and sorrows; but it will exist in a 
very large sense and it will be ours. 
The so-called hard-headed business 
man who never allows himself to be 
taken advantage of, whose dealings are 
always strict and uncompromising, is 
very apt to be a particularly miserable 
invalid when he is ill. I cannot argue in 
favor of business laxity, — I know the 
imperative need of exactness and final- 
ity, — but I do believe that if we are to 
possess the untroubled mind we must 
make our lives larger than the field of 
dollars and cents. The charity that 
develops in us will make us truly gen- 
erous and free from the reaction of 
hardness. 

It is a great temptation to go on mul- 
tiplying the rules of the game. There 
are so many sensible and necessary 



48 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

pieces of advice which we all need to 
have emphasized. That is the course 
we must try to avoid. The child needs 
to be told, arbitrarily for a while, what 
is right, and what is wrong, that he 
must do this, and he must not do that. 
The time comes, however, when the 
growing instinct toward right living is 
the thing to foster — not the details of 
life which will inevitably take care of 
themselves if the underlying principle 
is made right. It must be the ideal of 
moral teaching to make clear and pure 
the source of action. Then the stream 
will be clear and pure. Such a stream 
will purify itself and neutralize the 
dangerous inflow along its banks. It is 
true that great harm may come from 
the polluted inflows, but they will be 
less and less harmful as the increasing 
current from the good source flows 
down. 

We shall have to look well to our 
habits lest serious ills befall, but that 
must never be the main concern or we 



RULES OF THE GAME 49 

shall find ourselves living very narrow 
and labored lives; we shall find that we 
are failing to observe one of the most 
important rules of the game. 



VI 

THE NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT 

Beyond the ugly actual, lo, on every side, 
Imagination's limitless domain. 

Browning. 

He that too much refines his delicacy will always 
endanger his quiet. 

Samuel Johnson. 

The great refinement of many poetical gentlemen 
has rendered them practically unfit for the jostling 
and ugliness of life. 

Stevenson. 

It has been my fortune as a physician 
to deal much with the so-called nervous 
temperament. I have come both to 
fear and to love it. It is the essence of 
all that is bright, imaginative, and fine, 
but it is as unstable as water. Those 
who possess it must suffer — it is their 
lot to feel deeply, and very often to be 
misunderstood by their more practical 
friends. All their lives these people will 
shed tears of joy, and more tears of sor- 
row. I would like to write of their joy, 



THE NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT 51 

of the perfect satisfaction, the true hap- 
piness that comes in creating new and 
beautiful things, of the deep pleasure 
they have in the appreciation of good 
work in others. But with the instinct 
of a dog trained for a certain kind of 
hunting I find myself turning to the 
misfortunes and the ills. 

The very keenness of perception 
makes painful anything short of per- 
fection. What will such people do in 
our clanging streets? What of those 
fine ears tuned to the most exquisite 
appreciation of sweet sound? What of 
that refinement of hearing that detects 
the least departure from the rhythm 
and pitch in complex orchestral music? 
And must they bear the crash of steel 
on stone, the infernal clatter of traffic? 
Well, yes, — as a matter of fact — they 
must, at least for a good many years to 
come, until advancing civilization elim- 
inates the city noise. But it is not al- 
ways the great noises that disturb and 
distract. There is a story told of a 



52 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

woman who became so sensitive to 
noise that she had her house made 
sound-proof : there were thick carpets 
and softly closing doors; everything 
was padded. The house was set back 
from a quiet street, but that street was 
strewn with tanbark to check the sound 
of carriages. Surely here was bliss for 
the sensitive soul. I need not tell the 
rest of the story, how absolutely neces- 
sary noises became intolerable, and the 
poor woman ended by keeping a man 
on the place to catch and silence the 
tree toads and crickets. 

There is nothing to excuse the care- 
less and unnecessary noises of the world 
— we shall dispose of them finally as 
we are disposing of flamboyant sign- 
boards and typhoid flies. But mean- 
while, and always, for that matter, the 
sensitive soul must learn to adjust itself 
to circumstances and conditions. This 
adjustment may in itself become a fine 
art. It is really the art by which the 
painter excludes the commonplace and 



THE NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT 53 

irrelevant from his landscape. Some- 
times we have to do this consciously; 
for the most part, it should be a natural, 
unconscious selection. 

I am sure it is unwise to attempt at 
any time the dulling of the appreciative 
sense for the sake of peace and comfort. 
Love and understanding of the beauti- 
ful and true is too rare and fine a thing 
to be lost or diminished under any cir- 
cumstances. The cure, as I see it, is to 
be found in the cultivation of the fac- 
ulty that finds some good in everything 
and everybody. This is the saving grace 
— it takes great bulks of the common- 
place and distils from the mass a few 
drops of precious essence; it finds in the 
unscholarly and the imperfect, rare 
traces of good; it sees in man, any man, 
the image of God, to be justified and 
made evident only in the sublimity of 
death, perhaps, but usually to be devel- 
oped in life. 

The nervous person is often morose 
and unsocial — perhaps because he is not 



54 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

understood, perhaps because he falls so 
short of his own ideals. Often he does not 
find kindred spirits anywhere. I do not 
think we should drive such a man into 
conditions that hurt, but I do believe 
that if he is truly artistic, and not a 
snob, he may lead himself into a larger 
social life without too much sacrifice. 

The sensitive, high-strung spirit that 
does not give of its own best qualities 
to the world of its acquaintance, that 
does not express itself in some concrete 
way, is always in danger of harm. Such 
a spirit turned in upon itself is a con- 
suming fire. The spirit will burn a long 
time and suffer much if it does not use 
its heat to warm and comfort the world 
of need. 

Real illness makes the nervous tem- 
perament a much more formidable diffi- 
culty — all the sensitive faculties are 
more sensitive — irritability becomes 
an obsession and idleness a terror. 

The nervous temperament under irri- 
tation is very prone to become selfish — 



THE NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT 55 

and very likely to hide behind this self- 
ishness, calling it temperament. The man 
who flies into a passion when he is dis- 
turbed, or who spends his days in tor- 
ment from the noises of the street; the 
woman of high attainment who has re- 
tired into herself, who is moody and un- 
responsive, — these unfortunates have 
virtually built a wall about their lives, 
a wall which shuts out the world of 
life and happiness. From the walls of 
this prison the sounds of discord and 
annoyance are thrown back upon the 
prisoner intensified and multiplied. 
The wall is real enough in its effect, but 
will cease to exist when the prisoner 
begins to go outside, when he begins to 
realize his selfishness and his mistake. 
Then the noises and the irritations will 
be lost in the wider world that is open 
to him. After all, it is only through un- 
selfish service in the world of men that 
this broadening can come. 

There is no lack of opportunity for 
service. Perhaps the simplest and most 



56 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

available form of service is charity, — 
the big, professional kind, of course, 
— and beyond that the greater field of 
intimate and personal charity. I know 
a girl of talent and ability — herself a 
nervous invalid — sick and helpless for 
the lack of a little money which would 
give her a chance to get well. I do not 
mean money for luxuries, for foolish 
indulgences, but money to buy oppor- 
tunity — money that would lift her out 
of the heavy morass of poverty and 
give her a chance. She falls outside the 
beaten path of charity. She is not 
reached by the usual philanthropies. 
I also know plenty of people who could 
help that girl without great sacrifice. 
They will not do it because they give 
money to the regular charities — they 
will not do it because sometimes generos- 
ity has been abused. So they miss the 
chance of broadening and developing 
their own lives. 

I know well enough that objective 
interest can rarely be forced — it must 



THE NERVOUS TEMPERAMENT 57 

usually come the other way about — 
through the broadening of life which 
makes it inevitable. Sometimes I wish 
I could force that kind of development, 
that kind of charity. Sometimes I long 
to take the rich neurasthenic and make 
him help his brother, make him develop 
a new art that shall save people from 
sorrow and loss. We are all together in 
this world, and all kin; to recognize it 
and to serve the needs of the unfortu- 
nate as we would serve our own chil- 
dren is the remedy for many ills. It is 
the new art, the final and greatest of all 
artistic achievements; it warms our 
hearts and opens our lives to all that is 
wholesome and good. This is one of the 
crises in which my theory of "inspira- 
tion first" may fail. Here the charity 
may have to come first, may have to be 
insisted upon before there can be any 
inspiration or any further joy in life. 
It is not always charity in the usual 
sense that is required; sometimes the 
charity that gives something besides 



58 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

money is best. But charity in any good 
sense means self-forgetfulness, and that 
is a long way on the road to nervous 
health. Give of yourself, give of your 
substance, and you will cease to be 
troubled with the penalties of selfish- 
ness. Then take the next step — that 
gives not because life has come back, 
but because the world has become larger 
and warmer and happier. "When the 
giver gives of his sympathy and of his 
means because he wants to, — not be- 
cause he has to do so, — he will begin 
to know what I mean when I say it is 
better to have the inspiration first. 



VII 

SELF-CONTROL 

He only earns his freedom and existence 
Who daily conquers them anew. 

Goethe. 

A good many writers on self-control 
and kindred subjects insist that we shall 
conscientiously and consciously govern 
our mental lives. They say, "You must 
get up in the morning with determina- 
tion to be cheerful." They insist that 
in spite of annoyance or trouble you 
shall keep a smiling face, and affirm to 
yourself over and over again the denial 
of annoyance. 

I do not like this kind of self-control. 
I wish I could admire it and approve it, 
but I find I cannot because it seems to 
me self-conscious and superficial. It is 
better than nothing and unquestion- 
ably adds greatly to the sum of human 
happiness. But I do not think we ought 
to be cheerful if we are consumed with 



60 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

trouble and sorrow. The fact is we 
ought not to be for long beyond a natu- 
ral cheerfulness that comes from the 
deepest possible sources. While we are 
sad, let us be so, simply and naturally; 
but we must pray that the light may 
come to us in our sorrow, that we may 
be able soon and naturally to put aside 
the signs of mourning. 

The person who thinks little of his 
own attitude of mind is more likely to 
be well controlled and to radiate happi- 
ness than one who must continually 
prompt himself to worthy thoughts. 
The man whose heart is great with 
understanding of the sorrow and pathos 
of life is far more apt to be brave and 
fine in his own trouble than one who 
must look to a motto or a formula for 
consolation and advice. Deep in the 
lives of those who permanently triumph 
over sorrow there is an abiding peace 
and joy. Such peace cannot come even 
from ample experience in the material 
world. Despair comes from that experi- 



SELF-CONTROL 61 

ence sometimes, unless the heart is open 
to the vital spirit that lies beyond all 
material things, that creates and renews 
life and that makes it indescribably 
beautiful and significant. Experience 
of material' things is only the beginning. 
In it and through it we may have experi- 
ence of the wider life that surrounds the 
material. 

Our hearts must be opened to the 
courage that comes unbidden when we 
feel ourselves to be working, growing 
parts of the universe of God. Then we 
shall have no more sorrow and no more 
joy in the pitiful sense of the earth, but 
rather an exaltation which shall make 
us masters of these and of ourselves. 
We shall have a sympathy and charity 
that shall need no promptings, but that 
flow from us spontaneously into the 
world of suffering and need. 

Beethoven was of a sour temper, ac- 
cording to all accounts, but he wrote 
his symphonies in the midst of tribula- 
tions under which few men would have 



62 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

worked at all. When we have felt some- 
thing of the spirit that makes work in- 
evitable, it will be as though we had 
heard the eternal harmonies. We shall 
write our symphonies, build our bridges, 
or do our lesser tasks with dauntless 
purpose, even though the possessions 
that men count dear are taken from us. 
Suppose we can do very little because 
of some infirmity : if that little has in it 
the larger inspiration, it will be enough 
to make life full and fine. The joy of a 
wider life is not obtainable in its com- 
pleteness; it is only through a lifetime 
of service and experience that we can 
approach it. That is the proof of its 
divine origin — its unattainableness. 
"God keep you from the she wolf and 
from your heart's deepest desire," is an 
old saying of the Rumanians. If we 
fully obtain our desires, we prove their 
un worthiness. Does any one suppose 
that Beethoven attained his whole 
heart's desire in his music? He might 
have done so had be been a lesser man. 



SELF-CONTROL 63 

He was not a cheerful companion. That 
is unfortunate, and shows that he failed 
in complete inspiration and in the ordin- 
ary kind of self-control. He was at least 
sincere, and that helped not a little to 
make him what he was. I would almost 
rather a man would be morose and sin- 
cere than cheerful from a sense of duty. 
Our knowledge of the greater things 
of life must always be substantiated 
and worked out into realities of service, 
or else we shall be weak and ineffective. 
The charity that balks at giving, reacts 
upon a man and deadens him. I am 
always insisting that we must not live 
and serve through a sense of duty, but 
that we must find the inspiration first. 
It is better to give ourselves to service 
not for the sake of finding God, but be- 
cause we have found Him and because 
our souls have grown in the finding un- 
til we cannot help giving. If we have 
grown to such a stature we shall be able 
to meet sorrow and loss bravely and 
simply. We shall feel for ourselves and 



64 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

for others in their troubles as Forbes 
Robertson did when he wrote to his 
friend who had met with a great loss: 
"I pray that you may never, never, 
never get over this sorrow, but through 
it, into it, into the very heart of God." 
All this is very unworldly, no doubt, 
and yet I will venture the assertion that 
such a standard and such a method will 
come nearer to the mark of successful 
and well-controlled living than the most 
carefully planned campaign of duty. 
If we plan to make life fine, if we say, 
in effect, "I will be good and cheerful, 
no matter what happens," we are be- 
ginning at the wrong end. We may be 
able to work back from our mottoes to 
real living, but the chances are we shall 
stop somewhere by the way, too con- 
fused and uncertain to go on. Self-con- 
trol, at its best, is not a conscious thing. 
It is not well that we should try to be 
good, but that we should so dignify our 
lives with the spirit of good that evil 
becomes well-nigh impossible to us. 



VIII 

THE LIGHTER TOUCH 

Heart not so heavy as mine, 
Wending late home, 
As it passed my window 
Whistled itself a tune. 

Emily Dickinson. 

I have never seen good come from 
frightening worriers. It is no doubt 
wise to speak the truth, but it seems to 
me a mistake to say in public print or 
in private advice that worry leads to 
tragedies of the worst sort. No matter 
how hopeful we may be in our later 
teaching about the possibilities of over- 
coming worry, the really serious worrier 
will pounce upon the original tragic 
statement and apply it with terrible 
insistence to his own case. 

I would not minimize the seriousness 
of worry, but I am convinced that we 
can rarely overcome it by direct volun- 
tary effort. It does not go until we for- 



66 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

get it, and we do not forget it if we are 
always trying consciously to overcome 
it. We worriers must go about our 
business — other business than that of 
worry. 

Life is serious — alas, too serious — 
and full enough of pathos. We cannot 
joke about its troubles; they are real. 
But, at least, we need not magnify them. 
Why should we act as though every- 
thing depended upon our efforts, even 
the changing seasons and the blowing 
winds. No doubt we are responsible 
for our own acts and thoughts and for 
the welfare of those who depend upon 
us. The trouble is we take unnecessary 
responsibilities so seriously that we 
overreach ourselves and defeat our own 
good ends. 

I would make my little world more 
blessedly careless — with an abandon 
that loves life too much to spoil it with 
worry. I would cherish so great a desire 
for my child's good that I could not 
scold and bear down upon him for every 



THE LIGHTER TOUCH 07 

little fault, making him a worrier too, 
but, instead, I would guide him along 
the right path with pleasant words and 
brave encouragement. The condemna- 
tion of faults is rarely constructive. 

We had better say to the worriers, 
"Here is life; no matter what unfortu- 
nate things you may have said or done, 
you must put all evil behind you and 
live — simply, bravely, well. The 
greater the evil, the greater the need of 
forgetting. Not flippantly, but rever- 
ently, leave your misdeeds in a limbo 
where they may not rise to haunt you. 
This great thing you may do, not with 
the idea of evading or escaping conse- 
quences, but so that past evil may be 
turned into present and future good. 
The criminal himself is coming to be 
treated this way. He is no longer eter- 
nally reminded of his crime. He is 
taken out into the sunshine and air and 
is given a shovel to dig with. A wonder- 
ful thing is that shovel. With it he may 
bury the past and raise up a happier, 



68 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

better future. We must care so much 
to expiate our sins that we are willing 
to neglect them and live righteously. 
That is true repentance, constructive 
repentance. 

We cannot suddenly change our men- 
tal outlook and become happy when 
grief has borne us down. "For the 
broken heart silence and shade/' — 
that is fair and right. I would say to 
those who are unhappy, "Do not try 
to be happy, you cannot force it; but 
let peace come to you out of the great 
world of beauty that calmly surrounds 
our human suffering, and that speaks 
to us quietly of God." Genuine laugh- 
ter is not forced, but we may let it come 
back into our lives if we know that it is 
right for it to come. 

We have all about us instances of the 
effectiveness of the lighter touch as 
applied to serious matters. The life of 
the busy surgeon is a good example. 
He may be, and usually is, brimming 
with sympathy, but if he were to feel 



THE LIGHTER TOUCH 69 

too deeply for all his patients, he would 
soon fail and die. He goes about his 
work. He puts through a half-dozen 
operations in a way that would send 
cold shivers down the back of the unin- 
itiated. And yet he is accurate and sure 
as a machine. If he were to take each 
case upon his mind in a heavy, conse- 
quential way, if he were to give deep 
concern to each ligature he ties, and if 
he were to be constantly afraid of caus- 
ing pain, he would be a poor surgeon. 
His work, instead of being clean and 
sharp, would suffer from over-conscien- 
tiousness. He might never finish an 
operation for fear his patient would 
bleed to death. Such a man may be the 
reverse of flippant, and yet he may ac- 
tually enjoy his somber work. Cruel, 
bloodthirsty? Not at all. These men — 
the great surgeons — are as tender as 
children. But they love their work, they 
really care very deeply for their patients. 
The successful ones have the lighter 
touch and they have no time for worry. 



70 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

Sometimes we wish to arouse the 
public conscience. Do the long columns 
of figures, the impressive statistics, 
wake men to activity? It is rather the 
keen, bright thrust of the satirist that 
saves the day. Once in a New England 
town meeting there was a movement 
for a much-needed new schoolhouse. 
By the installation of skylights in the 
attic the old building had been made to 
accommodate the overflow of pupils. 
The serious speakers in favor of the new 
building had left the audience cold, 
when a young man arose and said he 
had been up into the attic and had seen 
the wonderful skylights that were sup- 
posed to meet the needs of the children. 
"I have seen them," he said; "we used 
to call them scuttles when I was a boy." 
A hundred thousand dollars was voted 
for the new schoolhouse. 

There is a natural gayety in most of 
us which helps more than we realize to 
keep us sound. The pity is that when 
responsibilities come and hardships 



THE LIGHTER TOUCH 71 

come, we repress our lighter selves 
sternly, as though such repression were 
a duty. Better let us guard the springs 
of happiness very, very jealously. The 
whistling boy in the dark street does 
more than cheer himself on the way. 
He actually protects himself from evil, 
and brings courage not only to himself, 
but to those who hear him. I do not 
hold for false cheerfulness that is some- 
times affected, but a brave show of 
courage in a forlorn hope will some- 
times win the day. It is infinitely more 
likely to win than a too serious realiza- 
tion of the danger of defeat. The show 
of courage is often not a pretense at all, 
but victory itself. 

The need of the world is very great 
and its human destiny is in our hands. 
Half of those who could help to right 
the wrongs are asleep or too selfishly 
immersed in their own affairs. We need 
more helpers like my friend of the sky- 
lights. Most of us are far too serious. 
The slumberers will slumber on, and 



72 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

the worriers will worry, the serious 
people will go ponderously about until 
some one shows them how ridiculous 
they are and how pitiful. 



IX 

REGRETS AND FOREBODINGS 

Regret avails little — still less remorse — the one 
keeps alive the old offense, the other creates new 
offenses. 

Goethe. 

The unrepentant sinner walks abroad. 
Unfortunately for us moralists he seems 
to be having a very good time. We 
must not condone him, though he may 
be a very lovable person; neither must 
we altogether condemn him, for he may 
be repentant in the very best way of all 
ways, the way that forgets much and 
leaves behind more, because life is so 
fine that it must not be spoiled, and 
because progress is in every way better 
than retrospection. The fact is, that 
repentance is too often the fear of pun- 
ishment, and such fear is, to say the 
least, unmanly. I would rather be a 
lovable sinner than one of the people 
who repent because they cannot bear 



74 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

to think of the consequences. Know- 
ledge and fear of consequences undoubt- 
edly keep a great many young people 
from the so-called sins of ignorance. 
But there must be something behind 
knowledge and fear of consequences to 
stop the youth of spirit from doing what 
he is inclined to do. Over and over 
again we must go back to the apprecia- 
tion of life's dignity and beauty — to 
the consciousness of the spirit of God 
behind and in the world if we are to 
find a balance and a character that will 
"deliver us from evil." 

When we have found this conscious- 
ness — when we live it and breathe it, 
we shall be far less apt to sin, and when 
we have sinned, as we all must in the 
course of our blundering lives, we shall 
not waste our time in regret or in the 
fear of consequences. If the God we 
dream of is as great as the sea, or as 
beautiful as a tree, we need not fear 
Him. He will be tender, and just at the 
same time. He will be as forgiving as 



REGRETS AND FOREBODINGS 15 

He is strong. The best we can do, then, 
is to leave our sins in the hand of God 
and go our way, sadder and wiser, 
maybe, but not regretting too much, 
not fearing any more. 

There is a new idea in medicine — 
the development of which has been one 
of the most striking achievements of 
modern times — the idea of psychan- 
alysis as taught and advocated by 
Freud in Germany. The plan is to 
study the subconscious mind of the 
nervous patient by means of hypno- 
tism, to assist the patient to recall all 
the mental experiences of his past, — 
even his very early childhood, — and in 
this way to make clear the origin of the 
misconceptions and the unfortunate 
impressions which have presumably 
exerted their influence through the 
years. The new system includes, also, 
the interpretation of dreams, their 
effect upon the conscious life and their 
influence upon the mentality. Very 
wonderful results are reported from the 



76 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

pursuit of this method. Many a badly 
warped and twisted life has been 
straightened out and renewed when the 
searchlight has revealed the hidden 
influences that have been at work and 
which have made trouble. The repres- 
sion of conscious or unconscious feel- 
ings can no doubt change the whole 
mental life. We should have the great- 
est respect for the men who are doing 
this work. It requires, I am told, an 
almost unbelievable amount of patience 
and time to accomplish the analysis. 
No doubt the adult judgment of child- 
ish follies is a direct means of disposing 
of their harmful influence in life, the 
surest way of losing the conscious or 
unconscious regrets that sadden many 
lives. There are probably many cases 
of disturbed and troubled mind that can 
be cured in this way only. The method 
does not appeal to me because I am so 
strongly inclined to take people as they 
are, to urge a forgetfulness that does 
not really forget, but which goes on 



REGRETS AND FOREBODINGS 77 

bravely to the development of life. 
This development cannot proceed with- 
out the understanding that life may be 
made so beautiful that sins and failures 
are lost in progress. Some of us may 
need the subtle analysis of our lives to 
make clear the points where we went 
astray in our thoughts and ideas, but 
many of us, fortunately, are able to 
take ourselves for better or for worse, 
sins and all. Most of us ought to do 
that, for the most part, if we are to 
progress and live. Sometimes the reve- 
lations of evils we know not of result in 
complications rather than simplifica- 
tion, as in the case of a boy who wrote 
to me and said that since he had learned 
of his early sins he had made sure that 
he could never be well. Instead of going 
into further analysis with him, I as- 
sured him that, while it was undoubt- 
edly his duty to regret all the evil of 
his life, it was a still greater duty to 
go on and live the rest of it well, and 
that he could do so if he would open 



78 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

his eyes to the possibilities of unselfish 
service. 

I am very much inclined to preach 
against self-analysis and the almost 
inevitable regret and despair that ac- 
company it. 

One of my patients decided some time 
ago that her life was wasted, that she 
had accomplished nothing. It was true 
that she had not the endurance to meet 
the usual demands of social or even 
family life, and that for long periods 
she had to give up altogether. But it 
happened that she had the gift of mu- 
sical understanding, that she had stud- 
ied hard in younger days. With a little 
urging the gift was made to grow again 
and to serve not only the patient's own 
needs, but to bring very great pleasure 
to every one who listened to her play- 
ing. That rare, true ability was worth 
everything, and she came to realize it 
in time. The gift of musical expression 
is a very great thing, and I succeeded 
in making this woman understand that 



REGRETS AND FOREBODINGS 79 

she should be happy in that ability even 
if nothing else should be possible. 

Often enough nothing that can com- 
pare with music exists, and life seems 
wholly barren. Rather cold comfort it 
seems at first to assure a person who is 
helpless that character is the greatest 
thing in the world, but that is the final 
truth. The most limited and helpless 
life may glow with it and be richer than 
imagination can believe. It is never 
time to regret — and never time to 
despair. The less analysis the better. 
When it comes to character, live, grow, 
and get a deeper and deeper understand- 
ing of life — of life that is near to God 
and so capable of wrong only as we turn 
away from Him. "Do not say things; 
what you are stands over you and thun- 
ders so, I cannot hear what you say to 
the contrary." We shall do well not to 
forget that, whatever failures or mis- 
takes we have made, there is infinite 
possibility ahead of us, that character 
is the greatest thing in the world, and 



80 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

that most good character has been 
built upon mistakes and failures. I 
believe there is no sin which may not 
make up the fabric of its own forgive- 
ness in the living of a free, self-sacrific- 
ing life. I know of no bodily ill nor 
handicap which we may not eventually 
rise above and beyond by means of 
brave spiritual progress. The body 
may fail us, but the spirit reaches on 
and into the great world of God. 



X 

THE VIRTUES 

The virtues hide their vanquished fires 
Within that whiter flame — 
Till conscience grows irrelevant 
And duty but a name. 

Fkederick Lawrence Knowles. 

In most books I have read on "nerves" 
and similar subjects, advice is given, 
encouragement is given, but the neces- 
sity for patience is not made clear. Pa- 
tience is typical of all the other virtues. 
Many a man has followed the best of 
advice for a time, and has become dis- 
couraged because the promised results 
did not materialize. It is disappointing, 
surely, to have lived upon a diet for 
months only to find that you still have 
dyspepsia, or to have followed certain 
rules of morality with great precision 
and enthusiasm without obtaining the 
untroubled mind. We are accustomed 
to see results in the material world and 



82 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

naturally expect them everywhere. 
The trouble is we do not always recog- 
nize improvements when we see them, 
and we insist upon certain preconceived 
changes as a result of our endeavors. 
The physician is apt rashly to promise 
definite physical accomplishments in a 
given time. He is courting disappoint- 
ment and distrust when he does so. 
We all want to get relief from our symp- 
toms, and we are inclined to insist upon 
a particular kind of relief so strongly 
that we fail to appreciate the possibili- 
ties of another and a better relief which 
may be at hand. The going astray in 
this particular is sometimes very un- 
fortunate. I have known a man to rush 
frantically from one doctor to another, 
trying to obtain relief for a particular 
pain or discomfort, unwilling to rest 
long enough to find out that the trouble 
would have disappeared naturally if he 
had taken the advice of the first physi- 
cian, to live without impatience and 
within his limitations. 



THE VIRTUES 83 

The human body is a very complex 
organism, and sometimes pain and dis- 
tress are better not relieved, since they 
may be the expression of some deeper 
maladjustment which must first be 
straightened out. This is also true of 
the mind — in which the unhappy 
proddings of conscience had better not 
be cured by anodynes or by evasion un- 
less we are prepared to go deeply 
enough to make them disappear spon- 
taneously. We must sometimes insist 
upon patience, though it should exist 
as a matter of course — patience with 
ourselves and with others. The physi- 
cian who demands and secures the 
greatest degree of patience from his 
clients is the most successful practi- 
tioner, for no life can go on successfully 
without patience. If patience can be 
spontaneous, — the natural result of a 
broadening outlook, — then it will be 
permanent and serviceable; the other 
kind, that exists by extreme effort, may 
do for a while, but it is a poor makeshift. 



84 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

I always feel like apologizing when I 
ask a man or a woman to be tolerant or 
charitable or generous or, for that mat- 
ter, to practice any of the ordinary vir- 
tues. Sound living should spring un- 
bidden from the very joy of life; it 
should need no justification and cer- 
tainly no urging. But unfortunately, 
as the world now stands, there are men 
and groups of men who do not see the 
light. There is a wide contagion of self- 
ishness and short-sightedness among 
the well-to-do, and a necessary federa- 
tion of protection and selfishness among 
the poor. The practical needs of life, 
artificial as they are among the rich, and 
terribly insistent as they are among the 
poor, blind us to larger considerations. 

If all matters of welfare, public or 
private, could be treated unselfishly, 
how quickly we should be rid of some of 
the great evils that afflict the race. I 
am inclined to think that much of the 
goodness of people does come in that 
way, unconsciously, naturally, as the 



THE VIRTUES 85 

light flows from the sun. Yet I suppose 
that in our present order, and until, 
through the years, the better time ar- 
rives, we must very often ask ourselves 
and others to be good and to be charit- 
able, just because it is right, or worse 
still because it is good policy. 

A man grows better, more human, 
more intelligent, as he practices the 
virtues. He is safer, no doubt, and the 
world is better. It is even true that, by 
the constant practice of virtues, he may 
come finally to espouse goodness and 
become thoroughly good. That is the 
hopeful thing about it and the reason 
why we may consistently ask or demand 
the routine practice of the virtues. But 
let us hold up all the time in our teach- 
ing and in our lives the other course, 
the development of the inspiration that 
includes all virtues and that makes all 
our way easy and plain in a world where 
confusion reigns, because men are going 
at the problem of right living the wrong 
way around. 



86 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

The practice of good living will never 
be easy in its details, but if it is sure in 
its inspiration there will be no question 
of the final triumph. We shall have to 
fight blindly sometimes and with all the 
strength and persistence of animals at 
bay. We shall fail sometimes, too, and 
that is not always the worst thing that 
can happen. It is the glory of life that 
we shall slowly triumph over ourselves 
and the world. It is the glory of life 
that out of sore trouble, in the midst 
of poverty and human injustice, may 
rise, spontaneous and serene, the spirit 
of self-sacrifice, the unconquerable 
spirit of service that does not question, 
that expresses the divine tenderness in 
terms of human love. Through the 
times of darkness and doubt which must 
inevitably come, there will be for those 
who cherish such a vision, and who 
come back to it again and again, no 
utter darkness, no trouble that wholly 
crushes, no loss that wholly destroys. 

If we could not understand it before, 



THE VIRTUES 87 

it will slowly dawn upon us that the life 
of Christ exemplified all these things. 
Charity, kindliness, service, patience, 
— all these things which have seemed 
so hard will become in our lives, as in 
his, the substance and expression of our 
faith. The great human virtues will 
become easy and natural, the untrou- 
bled mind, or as much of it as is good 
to possess, will be ours, not because we 
have escaped trouble, but because we 
have disarmed it, have welcomed it even, 
so long as it has served to strengthen 
and ennoble our lives. 



XI 

THE CURE BY FAITH 

The healing of his seamless dress 

Is by our beds of pain — 

We touch Him in life's throng and press, 

And we are whole again. 

Whittieb. 

I cannot finish my little book of ideals 
without writing some things that are in 
my mind about cure by faith or by 
prayer. It is a subject that I approach 
with hesitation because of the danger 
of misunderstanding. No subject is 
more difficult and none is more import- 
ant for the invalid to understand. We 
hear a great deal about the wonderful 
cures of Christian Science or of similar 
agencies, and we all know of people who 
have been restored to usefulness by 
such means. Has the healing of Christ 
again become possible on earth? No 
one would be more eager to accept it 
and acknowledge it than the physician 



THE CURE BY FAITH 89 

if it were really so. But careful investi- 
gation always reveials the fact that the 
wonderful cures are not of the body 
but of the mind. It is easy enough to 
say that a cancer or tuberculosis has 
been cured by faith, and apparently 
easy for many people to believe it, but 
alas, the proof is wanting. The Chris- 
tian Scientist, honest and sincere as he 
may be, is not qualified to say what is 
true disease and what is not. What 
looks like diseased tissue recovers, but 
medical men know that it could not 
have been diseased in the most serious 
sense, and that the prayer for recovery 
could have had nothing to do with the 
cure, save in a very indirect way. 

The man who discards medicine for 
philosophy or religion is courting un- 
necessary suffering and even death. 
The worst part of it is that he may in- 
duce some one else to make the same 
mistake with similar results. In writing 
this opinion I am in no way denying the 
great significance and value of faith nor 



90 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

of the prayerful and trustful mind. If 
it cannot cure actual physical disease, 
faith can accomplish veritable miracles 
of healing in the mind of the patient. 
No thoughtful or honest medical man 
will deny it. Nor will most medical men 
deny that the course of almost any 
physical illness may be modified by 
faith and prayer. I am almost saying 
that there is no known medicine of 
such potency. Every bodily function is 
the better for the conquering spirit that 
transcends the earth and finds its neces- 
sary expression in prayer. 

There really need be no issue or dis- 
agreement between medicine and faith 
cure. At its best, one is not more won- 
derful than the other, and both aim to 
accomplish the same end — the relief 
of human suffering. When the two are 
merged, as some day they will be, we 
shall be surprised to discover how alike 
they are. Christian Science is rightly 
scorned by medical men because it is 
unscientific, because it makes absurd 



THE CURE BY FAITH 91 

and untenable claims outside its own 
field, and because it has not as yet in- 
vestigated that field in the scientific 
spirit. When proper study and investi- 
gation have been made it will be found 
that faith cure, not in its present state, 
but in some future development, will 
have an immense field of usefulness. It 
will be worthy of as much respect in 
that field as medicine proper in its own 
sphere. As a matter of fact both medi- 
cine and faith cure are miraculous in a 
very real sense, as both depend for 
efficiency now and always upon the 
same great laws which may be fairly 
called divine. What is the discovery 
that the serum of a horse will under 
certain circumstances cure diphtheria? 
Does it not mean that man is tapping 
sources of power far beyond his under- 
standing? Is man responsible save as 
the agent? Did he produce the complex 
animal chemistry that makes this cure 
possible? Did man make the horse, or 
the laws that control the physiology 



92 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

and pathology of that animal? Here, 
then, is faith cure in its largest and best 
sense. The biologist may not be willing 
to admit it, but his faith in these great 
laws of God have made possible the 
cure of a dread disease. Here, as in all 
matters of pure religion, it is what men 
say and write, not the fact itself, that 
makes all the misunderstanding; we 
make our judgments and conceive our 
prejudices from mere surface considera- 
tions. Call life what you will, — leave 
out the symbolic word "God" alto- 
gether, — the facts remain. The true 
scientific spirit must reverence and 
adore the power that lies behind crea- 
tion. It is as inconsistent for the bac- 
teriologist to be an unbeliever as it is 
for the Christian Scientist to deny the 
value of bacteriology. Medicine is in- 
finitely farther advanced than Christian 
Science, and yet Christian Science has 
grasped some truth that the natural 
scientist has stupidly missed. When 
an obsession is thrown off and courage 



THE CURE BY FAITH 93 

substituted for fear, we witness as im- 
portant a "cure" as can be shown to 
the credit of surgery. If the Christian 
Scientists and the other faith-curers 
were only less superficial and less nar- 
row in their explanation of the facts, if 
they would condescend to study the 
diseases they treat, they would be en- 
titled to, and would receive, more re- 
spect and consideration. 

The cure and prevention of disease 
through the agency of man are evident- 
ly part of the divine plan. Our eager- 
ness to advance along the lines of inves- 
tigation and practice is but that divine 
plan in action. The truly scientific 
spirit will neglect no possible curative 
agent. ^When scientific men ridicule 
prayer, they are thinking not of the 
real thing which is above all possible 
criticism, but of the feeble and often 
pathetic groping for the real thing. We 
ask in our prayers for impossible bless- 
ings that would invert the laws of God 
and change the face of nature — very 



94 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

well, we must be prepared for disap- 
pointment. The attitude of prayer 
may, indeed, transform our own lives 
and make possible for us experiences 
that would otherwise have been im- 
possible. But our pathetic demands — 
we shall never know how forlorn and 
weak they are. Prayer is the opening 
of the heart to the being we call God — 
it is most natural and reasonable. If 
we pray in our weakness and blindness 
for what we may not have, there is, 
nevertheless, a wonderful re-creative 
effect within us. The comfort and 
peace of such communion is beyond all 
else healing and restoring in its influ- 
ence upon the troubled and anxious 
mind of man. The poet or the scientist 
who bows in adoration before the glory 
of God revealed in nature, prays in 
effect to that God and his soul is re- 
freshed and renewed. The poor wretch 
who stands blindfolded before the firing 
squad, waiting the word that ends the 
life of a military spy, is near enough to 



THE CURE BY FAITH 95 

God — and the whispered prayer upon 
his lips is cure for the wounds that take 
his life. 

The best kind of prayer seeks not and 
asks not for physical relief or benefit, 
but opens the heart to its maker, and so 
receives the cure of peace that is a 
greater miracle than any yet wrought 
by man. Under the influence of that 
cure the sick are well and the dead are 
alive again. With the courage and 
spirit of such a cure in our lives, we shall 
inevitably do our utmost to relieve, by 
any good means, the physical suffering 
of the world. We shall follow the laws 
of nature. We shall study them with 
the utmost care. We shall take nothing 
for granted, since by less careful steps 
we shall miss the divine law and so go 
astray. The science of healing will be- 
come no chance and irrational thing. 
We shall use all the natural means to 
relieve and prevent suffering — there 
will be no scoring of one set of doctors 
by another because all will have one 



96 THE UNTROUBLED MIND 

purpose. But more to the point than 
that, men will discover that health in 
its largest sense consists in living devout 
and prayerful lives whereunto shall be 
revealed in good time all that our finite 
minds can know and use. There will be 
no suffering of the body in the old and 
pitiful sense, for we shall be so much 
alive that disease and death can no 
longer claim us. 



THE END 



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